DOWN TOWN SAND-SCULPTORSmall red mat of beachon down town paving-stonesagainst the wall of Smith's(soon to be closed down).Out of his pile of sandhe's shaping a resting hound,with one beady eye-jewelfrom a bright pebble.His skin dark as mud-flats,stubble sharp as marram,he's so intent and focused;just a turn at coin-clack.His hands move like wavesconstantly smoothing out stones,his blood the unseen currentsand ear-shells listening distances.Sometimes money drizzles downfrom people in their tides,as he softly continues sculptingthe lying dog into life.